


To Grow Old

by YacobYeed



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YacobYeed/pseuds/YacobYeed
Summary: “I have seen you die young,” the voicemail said with a static hum, the voice was raspy and quiet. It paused in silence with its listener, John did little besides breath and eye nothing in particular. “and I have seen you die old.”He listened intently, a part of him took this all in stride; it played out like a two-cent speech about live and love. But the other part of him, the one that worshipped his brother and took his word as gospel, kept him listening. Waiting.“the outcome depends on how much love you let into your life,”





	To Grow Old

**Author's Note:**

> Little fic on John listening to Joseph's voicemail (the one that made us all wanna cry) and John trying to (in unhealthy ways) deal with emotions he doesn't really comprehend.

“I have seen you die young,” the voicemail said with a static hum, the voice was raspy and quiet. It paused in silence with its listener, John did little besides breath and eye nothing in particular. “and I have seen you die old.” 

He listened intently, a part of him took this all in stride; it played out like a two-cent speech about live and love. But the other part of him, the one that worshipped his brother and took his word as gospel, kept him listening. Waiting.

“the outcome depends on how much love you let into your life,” John’s brow tightened up into a bemused sort of look, first a speech on anger management, now you’re worried about my social circle? You’ve outdone yourself, Joseph, he thought to himself. But the words seemed to cut a little deeper than he’d liked, pun aside. 

“I want to see you grow into an old man in the paradise we’ve created. I love you, “   
There’s that word again.   
“I love you, brother.”

The message went quiet for a long while, nothing but static humming, as if in prayer or waiting for something. John didn’t doubt that Joseph very well might have been in prayer.  
The voicemail finallly clicked to an end and beeped. John brought his eyes back into focus, only then noticing how red the skin on his arm looked after he drew his nails away from it. 

He tried to focus on the main point of the Father’s message to him; his methods needed to change. He took too much pleasure in the cuts, the needles, the pain he inflicted on the sinners, and Joseph saw this, just as Joseph saw everything. 

But something about the other portion of Joseph’s speech roused a burning sensation in John’s chest, reaching its way up into his throat and choking him like a vice grip. What was there to love? What was there for him in life, besides the drugs, the sex, the pain? Sensation was all he had left to remind him that he was indeed still living, save for when Joseph found him. This project gave him purpose, a path to walk for the betterment of something bigger than himself. 

It gave him an excuse to maim and kill, as well. To see others suffer, to inflict pain. To share pain.

John stood from his seat, his skin itched. The scratching did little to ease it and he began to pace, heart slowly building into a frantic beating. 

He stopped dead in his tracks then, breathing hushed as his mouth went dry and he spied his escape in the form of a gun. 

John hunched over, to a cabinet, impatiently digging for the pouch he kept his ink and tattoo gun in. 

When he finally found it, his eyes flickered and then darkened with intent to harm. Quickly he tore into the bag, preparing the needle as he wondered what he’d etch into himself this time. His mind wandered for a bit before he switched the gun, and it began to buzz familiarly. John hoped that it might drown out the voice in his head. 

But if it didn’t, the pain would at least. 

‘love’ 

Love meant nothing, it was just another four letter word like any other yet it made something broken and rotten inside John writhe once again in agony. His brother loved him, and John would do anything to keep that love, even when the sense of fear that washed over him told him otherwise. 

Joseph’s right, he told himself, not about love, not about his cruelty- those were all things he wanted to childishly ignore- but about something greater. And he told himself this, chanted it in his head like a hymn, he needed something to hold on to to keep himself from drowning. 

John’s hand began to shake, wrapping around the gun tighter in a struggle to keep it steady. His cheeks flushed and began to burn a little in distress when he realized that no matter how deep he dug the needle in, it was hurting less and less every time. 

The the walkie on his belt beeped and made John jump a little before his features twisted into a sharp glare, threatening to melt the device. 

“*John, sir, it’s-- *” Static. John released a long winded, breathy sigh as he threw the gun aside, picking up the radio. 

“What is it?” He demanded, putting next to no effort into masking his true self. He waited for a long moment, irritated.   
“Hello?”

“It’s the deputy, you son of a bitch,” 

John breathed, mouth slightly slack before twisting up into a smirk.   
“Now’s a bad time, deputy.” he said calmly, almost amused. 

“I’m going to kill you.” 

“I look forward to you trying, maybe sooner than later. We can finally get this whole thing over with.” he mused, staring at his arm. 

“oh? Rolling out the red carpet?” 

“Only the finest,” he murmured, wondering if the tattoo on his arm had a different meaning. If Joseph’s message had a different meaning. 

Love did have different meanings.

“Come find me,”


End file.
